


Comfort in Old Friends

by wallflowerdalek



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: AU, M/M, Minor Violence, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 10:10:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5244401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wallflowerdalek/pseuds/wallflowerdalek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Technically, John Laurens died 21 years before A. Ham. But what if he didn't? What if Laurens outlived Hamilton?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort in Old Friends

John Laurens’ fist felt like relief, tasted like iron and salt. Burr’s entire head throbbed, his sight blurry, before the pain focused into his jaw. He put his hand on it, hot and wet with blood.

“I deserve that.”

Laurens hit him again, in his stomach, and for a brief second, as Burr’s body recoiled and he failed to breathe, he hoped for unconsciousness.

“And that,” he managed to gasp, before Laurens punched him again, knocking him to the dirt.

Burr lay in the dark, on the beaten path that led from his daughter’s house to the road, and waited for Laurens to hit him again. The ground was splattered with wilted magnolias, and he thought on how they were far more beautiful than he.

Laurens sat down.

“This would be a lot more satisfying if you’d pretend to fight back.”

“I have no fight left,” he answered.

Laurens put his head in his hands. “I loved him.”

Burr’s throat felt full. “We all did.”

“And you killed him, you rotten turncoat,” he twitched and struck Burr again. Burr’s head slammed against the ground, and it hurt, though it was obvious that Laurens’ heart was no longer in the violence. A pity.

“I did.”

Laurens punched him in the chest, and then stood up. “I came here to kill you, but you’re not worth it.”

Burr stayed motionless as Laurens stalked off a few paces, and then came back. “Why?

Burr didn’t answer. There was no answer to give. What could he say? Months of anger, of letters, years of mounting jealousy and passion, and it was over, all over. And Burr would do anything to take it back. He lay in the dirt, tasting blood, and wished again that he was unconscious.

“I should kill you.”

“Don’t,” Burr said.

“Why? Why not?” Laurens sounded dangerously unhinged.

“Because I’d have to stop you,” he answered quietly, licking his lips. He and Hamilton, they were survivors. Burr because he clawed, because he fought, because he refused to die. Hamilton’s survival was an accident, as if his brilliance frightened away death itself. For a time, anyway.

Laurens sat down next to him, and Burr could feel the angry heat of his body, could smell sweat and ale. It overwhelmed him, and it reminded him of his younger days, of war, of Alexander.

Laurens put his head in his hands. Burr propped himself up, his bruised core protesting, and wrapped his arm around Laurens’ narrow shoulders. He did not protest, his shoulders sharpening, then relaxing into Burr.

They sat in the dark, silent, hurting. Laurens breath evened, and for a second Burr wondered if he had fallen asleep. Then he twisted his body, reached for Burr’s belt buckle.

“Comfort me, you miserable wretch.”

It had been—a long time. Theodosia had died years before. His physical relationship with Hamilton had ended with his marriage. And recently his appetite for prostitutes had soured. Laurens’ bare neediness stirred him.

Laurens was unbuckling his pants, his hands brushing against Burr’s sudden hardness carelessly. After he’d exposed Burr, he dropped his own pants methodically. Laurens brought forth a whale oil patch, like one would use to oil his musket, and handed it to Burr, who gently oiled his cock, already a little moist from excitement. Burr pressed his oiled member against Laurens, reached for Laurens’ cock.

“Don’t touch me, bastard,” he said, hoarsely. “Just fuck me.”

And Burr did as he was told. Laurens grunted and gasped, moving to meet Burr’s stroke, bracing himself against the magnolia tree. Burr reached his hands under Laurens’ waistcoat, finding hot and sweaty flesh, gripping it for purchase. Laurens’ body was needy, his cries desperate, half pleasure, half sob.

Burr lost himself in Laurens’ furious rhythm, and as his orgasm ripped through his body, all he could think about was Alexander. After, Laurens buckled his pants and disappeared, wordless, leaving Burr spent and shaking, his seed dripping down the magnolia tree like blood.

 

 


End file.
